3 In gladsome cheer I did delight,

Till that delight did cause my smart,
And all was wrong when I thought right;
For right it was, that my true heart
Should not from truth be set apart,
Since truth did cause my hardiness;
Yet I remain all comfortless.

4 Sometime delight did tune my song, And led my heart full pleasantly; And to myself I said among,

5 Then if my note now do vary,
And leave his wonted pleasantness;

The heavy burthen that I carry

Hath alter'd all my joyfulness.

No pleasure hath still steadfastness,

But haste hath hurt my happiness;
And I remain all comfortless.

THE LOVER BEMOANETH

HIS UNHAPPINESS THAT HE CANNOT OBTAIN GRACE,

YET CANNOT CEASE LOVING.

1 ALL heavy minds

Do seek to ease their charge;
And that that most them binds

To let at large.

2 Then why should I

Hold pain within my heart,
And may my tune apply,

To ease my smart.

3 My faithful lute

Alone shall hear me plain,

For else all other suit

Is clean in vain.

4 For where I sue

Redress of all my grief;
Lo! they do most eschew
My heart's relief.

5 Alas! my dear,

Have I deserved so?
That no help may appear
Of all my woe!

6 Whom speak I to,

Unkind, and deaf of ear!

Alas! lo! I go,

And wot not where.

7 Where is my thought?

Where wanders my desire? Where may the thing be sought That I require?

8 Light in the wind

Doth flee all my delight;

Where truth and faithful mind

Are put to flight.

9 Who shall me give

Feather'd wings for to flee? The thing that doth me grieve That I may see!

10 Who would go seek

The cause whereby to pain?
Who could his foe beseek1
For ease of pain!

11 My chance doth so

My woful case procure,
To offer to my foe
My heart to cure.

12 What hope I then

To have any redress!

Of whom, or where, or when?
Who can express!

13 No! since despair

Hath set me in this case,

In vain is 't in the air

To say, Alas!

14 I seek nothing

But thus for to discharge

My heart of sore sighing,

To plain at large.

15 And with my lute

Sometime to ease my pain;

For else all other suit

Is clean in vain.

1Beseek:' beseech.

THE MOURNFUL LOVER TO HIS HEART

WITH COMPLAINT THAT IT WILL NOT BREAK.

1 COMFORT thyself, my woful heart,

Or shortly on thyself thee wreak; For length redoubleth deadly smart;

Why sigh'st thou, heart! and wilt not break?

2 To waste in sighs were piteous death;

Alas! I find thee faint and weak.

Enforce thyself to lose thy breath;

Why sigh'st thou, heart! and wilt not break?

3 Thou know'st right well that no redress Is thus to pine; and for to speak, Perdie! it is remediless;

Why sigh'st thou then, and wilt not break?

4 It is too late for to refuse

The yoke, when it is on thy neck!
To shake it off, vaileth not to muse;
Why sigh'st thou then, and wilt not break?

5 To sob and sigh it were but vain,

Since there is none that doth it reck; Alas! thou dost prolong thy pain;

Why sigh'st thou then, and wilt not break?

6 Then in her sight to move her heart
Seek on thyself, thyself to wreak,

That she may know thou suffered'st smart;
Sigh there thy last, and therewith break.

THE LOVER RENOUNCES HIS CRUEL LOVE

FOR EVER.

1 ALAS! the grief, and deadly woful smart,
The careful chance, shapen afore my shert,
The sorrowful tears, the sighs hot as fire,
That cruel love hath long soked from my heart!
And for reward of over great desire
Disdainful doubleness have I, for my hire.

2 O lost service! O pain ill rewarded! O pitiful heart, with pain enlarged!

O faithful mind, too suddenly assented! Return, alas! sithens thou art not regarded. Too great a proof of true faith presented, Causeth by right such faith to be repented.

3 O cruel causer of undeserved change, By great desire unconstantly to range,

Is this your way for proof of steadfastness? Perdie! you know, the thing was not so strange, By former proof too much my faithfulness; What needeth then such coloured doubleness?

4 I have wailed thus, weeping in nightly pain, In sobs, and sighs, alas! and all in vain,

In inward plaint, and heart's woful torment.
And yet, alas! lo! cruelty and disdain

Have set at nought a faithful true intent,
And price hath privilege truth to prevent.

5 But though I starve, and to my death still mourn,
And piecemeal in pieces though I be torn;
And though I die, yielding my wearied ghost,